Release Me
by BrokePerception
Summary: Set after 3.08 Goldfish. All Franky wanted was release. Fridget
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Everyone's eyes were on her, and she felt her mouth open as she tried to look for an answer on the accusation. She wouldn't be the first to break under that kind of glare from a judge. She had known a lot of inmates who had admitted to crimes they had never even committed merely because they couldn't take the pressure any longer. She was sort of innocent, too. Sort of. Franky and she hadn't engaged in any kind of intimacy, after all, but dear heavens, had she wanted to do so.

"Francesca Doyle and I have never engaged in any which kind of intimacy," Bridget stated after several seconds in a calm, measured tone, as she looked the half-bald middle-aged judge right in his clear blue eyes. When he didn't react, she took in a big gulp of air and, with it, gathered all of her courage to tell them what she wanted to say. "Maybe it is too easy to mistake general concern for the women's well-fare and a real desire to offer them the help and the support they need for more than what it truly is, namely my job, in an institution like Wentworth. I can imagine that that is definitely true when I'm compared to Miss Bennett or, even worse, Miss Ferguson, whose interests lie with the power that comes with the position rather than the position, itself," she stated.

The judge sat back in his high chair with a pensive look written across his pale face. "What exactly is it you mean, Miss Westfall?"

Bridget let her clear eyes travel to Franky for one brief moment, as the 'criminal' stared at her from across the room. A small smile was on her lips, warning and concern in her eyes. She knew that she shouldn't push too far until she had proof. Franky had to be released then, too, so Ferguson couldn't fuck with her parole anymore, her freedom. "I have merely stated that I feel I have other intentions than most of the staff in Wentworth Correctional Centre. I believe time and position has changed a lot of people's perspective."

"Do you have specific examples?"

Bridget only managed to shake her head before she answered, "No, Your Honor. It is just my opinion, and you're not at all obliged to bear it in mind. I can only tell you from several years of experience with this kind of things that Franky Doyle is ready to be a part of society again, and that my opinion isn't clouded by feelings that I'm rumored to have for her. I'm not at all interested in Franky Doyle otherwise."

The judge sucked in a deep breath though his nose and appeared to weigh Bridget's words for a moment. He glanced down at the papers upon the desk over the rim of his spectacles. He mouthed a few key words just to himself while he leafed through them as he considered the decision that was expected of him to make that day.

Meanwhile, Franky cast a pained look in Bridget's direction, and in that moment, Bridget's hard words had sounded so very sincere she really began to doubt whether she had truly interpreted the Master in Psychology's feelings correctly. She had said that if all that the blonde wanted was fuck her, she could live with it, but that had been a lie... and a big one at it. She wanted more than a fuck, or repeated fucks. For the first time in her life, Franky Doyle wanted to have an actual relationship, like the one she had thought her parents had had back when she was still very young, before she was old enough to know what exactly was going on... and before her father had left her and her mother had resorted to continuous abuse.

She only barely heard the decision about her parole. It was only when the sounds of several voices suddenly erupted in the previously quiet court room and her lawyer shook her hand and _congratulated_ her that she realized what had happened. When she blinked and looked at the seat Bridget Westfall had occupied moments before, she realized that she was gone already.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  


As she downed glass number four, Bridget Westfall cast her blurry eyes aside and let her gaze then fall upon the nearly empty _Pinot Gris_ bottle that was on the low, less-than-sturdy coffee table. She didn't usually have any more than two glasses of alcohol of any kind, if she had any to begin with, and then not usually the kind that had more than 10% of alcohol in them. She began to feel the effects of the slightly sour white wine in her system now, and she knew she shouldn't have had this much. She knew she would feel it, come morning. At least she felt her head already spin less than before. It felt so good to be numb for once, to blur the image of the raven-haired woman's green eyes as they stared at her in disbelief, then doubt.

She didn't know if she wanted for her to believe the words she had stated in the court room or not. What was of the most importance to her, however, was that Judge Mahony would, and he had, as evidenced by the decision he had made and that had put Franky on parole. Through the grape vine, she had received the news that a small studio had been selected to house Franky Doyle for now, until she could get a steady job and afford a nicer and maybe bigger place on her own. She would have a job at a small, lesser-known bistro in town from Monday on, ad interim. With a bit of luck, it would go very well and she would be allowed to stay and hopefully be offered a long-term contract after, there or elsewhere, and from there on, she would be able to build a nice life for herself.

When she set her empty glass down on the table, a soft 'ting' sounded. She rubbed her face with her hands. Why did she have to fall for her?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  


Franky Doyle sighed as she ran a hand through her hair and tapped a foot against the beige tiles of the small entrance hall where patients were supposed to wait for their therapists to be ready to receive them and have a session. When she felt that she could talk again, without the risk of it being yelling, she said, "Come on, lady... I really have to talk to Miss Westfall. She helped me get my shit together when I was in prison, and I can't talk about this with my new counselor."

"Miss Doyle," the blonde secretary began. She didn't at all seem like she cared how Franky felt or what she felt she needed right this second, which was get to talk to Bridget. "Miss Westfall is in a session, so she just can't see you. She'll have appointments all day today, so, unless you make one of your own for therapeutic reasons you're absolutely unable to discuss with the counselor you've got now, I can't let you pass."

Franky inhaled rather sharply through her nostrils. She felt an immense anger come over her that wasn't unlike the one she had felt when she committed the crime that had put her in jail in the first place. By law, you were not allowed to hurt, let alone potentially _kill_ another, with visible damage. She cast her green eyes up to the sky to try and stay calm while she released the air through her mouth in small shocks, for several long seconds. When she felt somewhat less like she would pull the blonde chick over the desk and make her feel her anger very physically, she addressed her again. She locked her gaze onto the younger blonde. "Alright. When is the next free moment?" she asked. "It is therapeutic in every way."

The secretary held Franky's gaze for several seconds. She didn't appear to believe Franky was really serious. A glare of the raven-haired ex-inmate confirmed that she was and that she was expected to answer. She cleared her throat, blinked away and turned to her fancy computer. In silence, she clicked on a few things, presumably to take a look at the schedule and determine when the next available spot was with Bridget Westfall. The long, red-painted nail of her right forefinger gleamed into the yellowish light that hung above her head when she scrolled down with the slight computer mouse sound, specifically tied to scrolling up or down, until, at last, she stopped and looked back at Franky. "The next spot is next Friday at three," she stated.

"That's too long from now. I need to talk to Miss Westfall now."

"Now just isn't possible..." The secretary that had the name tag 'Valerie' on her fluffy gray sweater that couldn't have really been in fashion ever since the eighties trailed off when she saw the expression upon the ex-inmate's face change at something over her left shoulder. When she redirected her gaze towards what had obviously caught Franky's attention, she saw the woman that Franky desperately wanted to talk to through the tall glass panels that separated the secretary's desk from the offices. Bridget herself seemed to be caught up in a conversation with one of her co-workers so much that she didn't notice Franky at the desk, though.

Franky Doyle noted this, too. "Gidget!"

That's when the blonde turned her head, when she looked into those deep green eyes that spoke of near-tangible despair at being separated from the woman she had dreamed of for months... now visible but not reachable anyway. She felt the harsh clench in her own heart as she stopped in her tracks and just held Franky's gaze. Unspoken words were exchanged between them. _I can't stay away. I miss you so much I go insane._

She knew that she was the reason for the pain that was visible in the ex-inmate's eyes. If only it wasn't so difficult to love, in their situation. The Master in Psychology mustered all sanity she had left, ripped her gaze away and continued her path, as if Franky was meaningless and nothing to her. She had to right now. It broke Bridget's heart, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  


"I guess you don't miss me at all."

When she turned, Bridget Westfall was confronted with the raven-haired woman to whom she had known the accented voice belonged before she did. To say she was startled, would be putting it mildly. After all, Franky had snuck up on her from the bushes that half-surrounded the old parking lot. The building had been renovated not too long ago now, but they hadn't done the effort to do the same for the surroundings. To say she was surprised to see Franky there, after seeing her at the office, wouldn't be correct, though. She must have waited by her car ── the same car that she had seen Bridget come to Wentworth or leave it in so often. "You shouldn't be here, Franky," Bridget stated.

The raven-haired ex-inmate lifted both of her hands up in the air at this. "Why's that?" she said rather snarkily.

Bridget sighed. "You're on parole, Franky. I do not have to tell you that you've got to answer for every move and that they all keep a close eye on you now." She then continued in a slightly softer, familiar tone, "Do not fuel the rumor I've tried so hard not to let influence the judge's decision, or you'll have to go back to Wentworth, until someone re-evaluates you, and that can take up to a year, if not longer, because Ferguson would be thrilled to have your head on a stake."

She let her eyes sweep across her and Bridget's surroundings fleetingly, to confirm no one was there, before she set a step closer. They were very nearly touching; only a hair's breadth still separated them. She reveled in the way Bridget's breath hitched in her throat when she made the bold move so in the open, yet not, and a small smile came upon thin lips as she closed the distance that was left between them entirely and pushed her breasts against Bridget's. She felt the heat that emanated from the blonde. So... Gidget had missed her then.

"Franky, stop... Please..."

She licked her lips. The ex-inmate's gaze never left Bridget. "Is that what you want?" Franky whispered in a way that spoke of great confidence. When Bridget sort of growled in response at the question Franky knew the answer on... at the battle she felt in her mind and heart, at what she should say and what she wanted to say... Franky Doyle just chuckled. She very much liked to be in control, especially over hot women ── hot women like Bridget Westfall. "Your place or mine, Gidget?" she asked with a leap of not-misplaced self-confidence.

She turned her head to the left, away from Franky, as a vain attempt to stop or at least lessen any and all desire to press her lips on the other woman's. As long as she looked into Franky's deep green eyes, full of want, Bridget felt heat emanate from her innermost self and spread to places she didn't know could feel so warm. She felt the way her heart raced against her ribcage. She felt the way she throbbed with need, _right there_.

Unfortunately, Francesca Doyle was an intelligent and perceptive woman, and the kind who loved to push boundaries... and cross them. She pressed herself even that bit closer to Bridget, until the Master in Psychology was trapped in-between her own car and Franky's body. The ex-inmate slid her leg between the blonde's, so that her thigh was right where Bridget needed her most. A near-inaudible moan escaped thin lips.

"Franky..."

When Bridget released her breath, it was shaky. She had to swallow hard and summon all the willpower she had left to slide away. That wouldn't be appropriate at all, not that whatever they had truly was. They couldn't possibly jeopardize Franky's parole, her future. She knew that Franky wouldn't want to risk her future either and that she was just testing her, to get her where she wanted her. Franky had succeeded at that already, though... and therefore, she just didn't know if she would be able to stop herself any longer if she pushed only that bit more.

"Just... get in the car, Franky."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  


A small cry escaped the blonde's lips as Franky lifted her up and deposited her on the kitchen island, with Bridget's bare ass on the cold, gray marble. Bridget's legs fell to the side as she did this, and she took advantage of this. As she slid between her legs and brought their naked bodies together, her hands slid over the older woman's thighs, and her lips touched reddened and swollen ones, again. From the very second they had set foot in Bridget's loft, lips had crashed upon one another, and their hands had plucked at their own and each other's attires ── needily. A trail of clothes now lead from the hallway to where they were. Bridget's panties lay in a puddle by Franky's bare feet. They had been the last to shed.

As much as she wanted to take her time, to savor Franky Doyle on her body at last, after all the times she had dreamed and thought of it and longed for Franky to do exactly what she was doing, she was not up for the slow approach. Bridget's nipples were hard and poky and begged for Franky's touch. She was so damn wet and ready. She wanted... needed... Franky to fuck her in a way that she would still feel it in the morning. She tangled her fingers in Franky's dark hair and tried, subtly yet not at all, to guide Franky's head, a bit lower...

Bridget felt Franky smile in their heated kiss at what was obviously a display of need from the ever-composed woman. She accepted the gesture, though, and she let her head be guided lower. A hiss of pleasure from Bridget sounded when she ran the tip of her tongue over Bridget's nipple before she took it in her mouth. She felt powerful.

The blonde was barely aware of Franky's mouth going down her body, just as she pushed several fingers inside her and curled them, right up against that spot. When her talented tongue reached Bridget's heated sex, too, and when she ran her tongue over Bridget's clitoris, Bridget's body arched up in pure pleasure, and a shiver spread quickly across her skin. She opened her eyes, blearily, and managed to raise herself up on one elbow when that touch didn't continue, just to see why.

"Your cunt is so damn wet, Gidget," Franky said, lustfully, candid as she was.

Bridget's lips parted, ready to plead, when Franky pulled back and slammed her fingers deep inside again, the words stuck in her throat. A breathless gasp sounded, instead. She tried very hard not to close her blue eyes as Franky's ministrations continued, tried very hard to keep on looking at Franky as she fucked her, but she felt herself get weak at the pleasure that overcame her. She couldn't help but sink back down on the counter and spread her legs wider when Franky bowed her head again and sucked her clitoris between her lips. She was so damn talented with her tongue...

The raven-haired ex-inmate gently let her teeth scrape across Bridget's clitoris, let her tongue take the brief, stingy pain of it away right after, leaving pleasure, as she slammed two of her fingers back and forth in the blonde's core. The counselor then felt how her lower abdomen constricted, how an immensely intense feeling quickly began to grow there and begged to be set free. Her breath came from her in small shocks of air, and her arms were splayed beside her on the counter top as she desperately tried to hold onto the cold marble, her finger nails scratching at it. Bridget Westfall hadn't been pleased that way in many years, and she felt how her right lower leg cramped as a reminder of that.

Meanwhile, she felt herself grow closer to a new kind of pleasure, and it was so intense that the climb in itself made her release a sob. A high-pitched cry was pulled from the depths of her core as she reached her end destination. Strangely, she felt the need to push Franky off. The ex-inmate luckily realized, and as she pulled back, Bridget felt her release hit her in a way that she had never even felt before. A pleasure and a satisfaction overwhelmed her that she hadn't even known existed like that, much less experienced.

 _Wait, had she just...?_

"I didn't know you were a _squirter_ , Gidget."

 _Oh, she had. Fuck..._

Bridget pulled one arm over her reddened face, somewhat embarrassed. She hadn't ejaculated before, nor had she had any girlfriends who had when with her. She tried not to consider how many women Franky had had. She tried not to consider how many she had fucked in order to perfect her quite pleasurable, effective methods.

Either way, she didn't have the time to let herself be carried away by her thoughts. As soon as she had pulled back and let Bridget's climax hit her, Franky Doyle placed a hand on each side of Bridget's lean figure, to push herself up with all the strength that she had ── gained from intense bicep exercises in the prison yard ── and without interruptions, she straddled Bridget's hips and settled on top of the other woman. Bridget's throat felt like a desert when she noted the look in the raven-haired woman's eyes. When she felt Franky guide a hand to the apex of milky white thighs that never saw sun, she fought back an audible moan. Franky Doyle was so wet, and she was that wet for her...

Then she felt how that wetness surrounded her all of a sudden, as Franky pushed Bridget's thumb down and then sank down on four of her fingers. She was really a goddess to watch as her hips gyrated on Bridget's digits and her hands covered her rather voluptuous breasts and squeezed them right in time with her erratic movements. Franky's eyes were closed, but Bridget knew that she knew she was watching. Bridget was certain that never in her entire life had she been this enthralled with a woman in pleasure. Then again, she hadn't fallen for any of her clients before either, nor had the blonde's resolve ever faltered as easily and as quickly as it had when with Franky Doyle.

Bridget's breath hitched nearly along with Franky's as the ex-inmate tilted her pelvis in a way that she had learned would make her feel very good and Bridget ran her mid-long nails over the other woman's bare back. "Fuck, Bridget!" Franky managed, and it was the first time in a long time she addressed Bridget by her given name, and not by the nickname she had given her very shortly after they met when Franky was in the slot still.

She felt the younger woman's body clench when she reached her orgasm as well, accompanied by a long series of moans and lots of curses. She became less vocal as her body's movements became less intense, and she supported her own weight with her hands on Bridget's lower abdomen.

When she opened her green eyes, the satisfaction she felt nearly visible, a small smile pulled at Franky's lips, which caused Bridget to follow suit. "You've got a sturdy kitchen, I see," Franky stated. That much was true. "I will have to bear it in mind for any future reference. I have a feeling that we'll have a lot of _down_ time together," she said, and as she did, she emphasized the word 'down' very strongly. Bridget understood Franky's meaning very well. It wasn't hard to do so, given their situation.

Bridget's smile faltered. "Maybe," she whispered, and she knew Franky understood, because Franky's smile faltered, too, when she said the words.

The situation was neither simple nor easy, but Hell, did both of them wish that it could be...


End file.
